Foreigners of Freedom
by DahlFace
Summary: Slight AU, post-AoU but skipping CACW. (Eventual pairings) Twin sisters, successful HYDRA experiments, collide with the Avengers and have to juggle secrets, strange eating habits and powers when one Avengers wants nothing more than to bring back her brother and need their help to do it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first ever fanfiction, I'm super nervous but I'm having way too many one sided conversations with various Author's Notes. If anything doesn't make sense, feel free to ask. I might have a panic attack or two before responding but I'll try my very best to reply and answer any** **questions you may have.**

* * *

 _Breathe in, breathe out._ I chant mentally before pulling the trigger, watching as my target drops to the ground, unmoving. People scream and dash to somewhere they hope is safe before peeking up and scanning the area to see where the shot came from. But they don't, they don't see me or the rifle or how hopelessly easy it would be to pick them all off.

 _Stop, don't think that way. He was a monster and deserved what he got, you don't kill innocents anymore._ I remind myself sharply before disassembling my rifle and carefully packing it away. All is left is to confirm the kill and disappear.

I tuck the pieces into a bright pink tote bag and brush the lingering bits of roofing from my professional yet fashionable suit. I head to the roof access door and adopt a perfected look of boredom, one that suits my everyday hardworking citizen disguise. No one looks twice as I make my way through the building and out onto the street where the sirens are barely audible. I stride indifferently down the sidewalk, my matching bright pink heels making a soft clicking sound. The closer I get to the scene of the crime; the more people are frantic. Strangers scurry around me, fear written plainly on their faces. _Rightfully so, I could kill you all with my bare hands._

The everyday hardworking citizen persona cracks causing my steps to momentarily falter, a sharp jerk of the head banishing the thoughts. Thoughts that belong in a past where killing was my only purpose and from conception I was nothing more than a weapon. A very efficient weapon.

"Ma'am?" I jolt back to the real world and curse inwardly. A police officer, decked out proudly in his uniform, stands before me with his head titled to the side in question. "It's not safe that way, you need to find an alternate route." He explains in a firm but concerned tone. I wrinkle my brow in mock confusion.

"Oh, what happened? Was there an accident? I hope no one's hurt." I say with a frown and glance down the road but only manage to see more cops milling about. The sirens grow increasingly louder as more head to inspect my handiwork.

"There was a murder. You need to find another way home, I'm sorry for the inconvenience." He states as his radio crackles to life. He turns away from me to answer and I smoothly slip away, kill confirmed.

An unassuming black car, exactly like the thousands of other black cars zipping about, pulls up just in front of me and the back seat door opens. I nonchalantly slide in and the door automatically shuts before the car pulls away from the curb and seamlessly blends with traffic.

"Why do you get to sit up front?" I tease as an exact copy of my own face twists around to frown at me from the driver's seat. She rolls her eyes and gestures to the passenger seat before settling back to watch the road. The self-driven car glides to a stop and I quickly slip into the passenger seat just as the begins again to navigate the congested streets of Los Angeles.

"Everything's going to plan, the plane leaves in two hours so there is just enough to grab a shower and nap." An emery board expertly flies over my sister's already perfect nails before she pauses, inspecting them carefully. She deems them fine and flicks the emery board towards me. She glances at me, narrowing her eyes as they inspect my everyday hardworking citizen outfit and frowns. "Seeing you without your tattoos is still like seeing you naked, unpleasant and scarring." She remarks before pulling out her phone and focusing her attention elsewhere.

My heavily tattooed self wouldn't fit the everyday hardworking citizen facade so they were covered with either clothes or a shit load of makeup. And though I've done it too many times to count, it still irks me. The itching stopped around the ninth time, thank god, but the uncomfortable feeling of smothering that integral part of myself hasn't. I shoot her an unamused look before reclining my seat and closing my eyes to squeeze in even the tiniest of breaks.

"How long is the flight from L.A. to New York?" I ask as I blindly slip off the pink heels and unpin the brown wig to free my naturally auburn hair. I massage my scalp to relieve the ache of being confined and snuggle into the passenger seat.

"A little over five hours. We should be arriving after midnight and you know I hate sleeping on planes so just crash and we can go out to eat tomorrow night." My sister, as always, reading my mind concerning the food aspect. I mutter something hopefully snarky before slipping into light sleep.

Which is disturbed way too soon. The car jerks to a stop and my sister is already in motion, reaching into the back to gather the wig and my tote bag before slipping into our current safe house. I slip into the pink heels before entering the unassuming apartment building situation on the edge of what's considered the bad side of town. Where the people are too naive to be paranoid of the neighbors.

Our apartment is sparse, just the essentials and what came with the apartment. While I was doing recon for the just completed assignment, my sister was switching everything from this safe house to the next in New York. She's handy like that.

I beeline to the shower, practically ripping off the work suit and enjoying the steaming hot shower. I lather and start scrubbing off the makeup covering off my beautiful tattoos, feeling lighter once they start showing through. Most of my tattoos are Neo-Traditional though there are a few done in realism or sketched out style. I tried to avoid tattooing areas that couldn't easily be hidden, such as my hands, chest, neck and face, but sometimes times call for a shorter disguise and my legs and arms are unavoidably covered in the dreaded concealer.

Once completely clean and relaxed, I throw on some pajamas and crash on my bed hoping to get at least some sleep before having to leave. But factoring in traffic and my insanely long shower, it wasn't twenty minutes before my sister was poking my to wake up. Not bothering to change, I trudge back out to the car and slump into the passenger seat. The ride passes uneventfully and finally I'm boarding the private plane and heading straight to the small bedroom at the back of the plane. Five hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The New York safe house reminds me of countless others, a converted warehouse in an area no one asks questions stocked with all the finest equipment. It's open and spacious with a kitchen against the left wall and a makeshift lab against the right one with nothing but potential workout space between them. The second story is situated above the kitchen, with only two doors leading each of our bedrooms.

I quickly investigate my room from my position on the bed, finding everything is set up in the usual manner. The large bed in the center of the wall opposite the door with a two doors to the left of the bed and a complete wall of weapons to the right. One door leads to a closet while the other is a bathroom. Simple and clean.

I step into the small closet and pull out my usual outfit. I strip and bunch up my clothes, tossing the clean ones on my bed and the dirty ones by the door. The bathroom is as expected, a shower stall and a sink with a built in countertop. There's no toilet, one of the perks of not eating human food is not needing one. I wash my face and apply moisturizer before detangling and tightly braiding my hair.

The only thing difference, sans tattoos, between me and my sister is our hair. Mine is constantly straight and an auburn red in color that barely covers my boobs despite the fact I've never cut it more than an inch all my twenty-two years. My sister's classic red hair easily touches her hips and seems stuck in that effortlessly beautiful beachy wave hairstyle that just looks lush and springy. Although to an outsider, my sister's hair is only three shades lighter and she straightens her hair often while my hair tends to be curly due to the braid I always have it in.

I finish by messily rimming my crystal blue eyes with black eyeliner and walk back to my bed where my clean clothes lie. Along with my sister, eyes glued to the screen of her phone. She glances up and frowns at my nude body before averting her eyes quickly.

"Must you always be naked? You'd think I'd be over it by now." She snaps with the slightest hint of a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. If I wasn't her sister, I wouldn't have caught it.

"Must you always be invading my space? It's not like I have anything to be ashamed of. You on the other hand-" I teasingly say with frowning and gesturing at her body. She snorts and her smiles reappears much more pronounced. We both know we have the same thin but toned body complete with B cup tits and a pert ass, thank god for our genetic contributors whoever they may be.

"It's seven am and I'm bored. Come play in the lab with me." She puts aside her phone to pout, tossing my panties and jeans at me. I tug the black lace and dark wash jeans on before slipping on the matching black lace bra and lace-up style gray shirt. She looks similarly with her black jeans and gray wrap style shirt.

"Fine, I was only going to sharpen my knives but they can wait." I smirk and spare a glance to the wall of weapons, equally made of guns and various types of blades. She rolls her eyes and sends me a knowing glance. My knives are never dull enough to warrant sharpening. I shrug as she leaps gracefully off my bed and we both leave to head towards the lab.

The lab, a must-have in all our safe-houses, is more like a playroom filled with spare parts and machines to fix or destroy. My sister and I both possess genius level intelligence and a love for tinkering with things. Her more so electronics while I have a passion for creating weapons, like a Taser from a toaster. A much handier thing to have in my opinion. We settle into a comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional curse as the sun rapidly travels across the sky.

It's almost 11pm before my stomach pangs with the familiar feeling of hunger and I abandon my current project of making an electrified knife from the leftover remnants of a television. Popping sounds fill the air as I stretch contently and get my sister attention by flicking some useless piece of metal towards her. She shoots me an annoyed look before it slowly turns into one of understanding. Shoving away from the table she was slaving over, she quickly stretches with ease and the pops of her own bones follow. Time tends to fly when we let our minds run free. She marches towards the makeshift kitchen and guzzles down one of her homemade smoothies, contently sighing as she finishes. We split to our respective bedrooms to change and dress in something more appropriate for the occasion.

I shimmy out of my clothes, keeping the lacy panties, but instead choose to don insanely tiny black leather shorts and an equally tiny black leather bustier. I layer over a cropped charcoal leather jacket and slip into some knee high platform boots to complete the outfit. The bathroom mirror provides enough space to thoroughly check myself out. My tattoos shift and wander restlessly under my skin and I brush my hands longingly over them in reassurance. My makeup hasn't worn off enough to need touching up though I swipe some extra red lipstick on and unravel my hair from the braid. Running my fingers through the silky strands and fluffing it lightly, I nod in satisfaction at my appearance and pick up the discarded clothes, tossing them in the newly created dirty pile by the door. I stop before exiting, lovingly staring at my weapons. The knives gleam enticingly and I can't seem to make myself leave without strapping any on. I feel almost naked leaving unarmed, in a way that actually being naked doesn't cause. Though lack of privacy during my childhood coupled with an overactive sexual drive made nudity lose its normal taboo.

Giving it, I finger a few smaller daggers before tucking one in each boot and another three in various built in sheathes in my jacket. A sense of calm and control descends over me as I amble over to my sister's room. I arrive just as she's lacing up her similar platform boots. We make it a habit to dress alike and keep the fact there is two of us a secret. With her black leather shorts and matching bustier, cropped black leather jacket and boots, only someone with prior knowledge of us being twins can tell us apart, or that there's two of us if we're spotted individually. It's part of the reason we were such good assassins, we always had an alibi.

"Ready?" She nods towards me before giving herself a quick once over, her fingers unconsciously lingering at the now visible tattoos on her upper thigh. It's a black and white tattoo of an owl locked in battle with a bear. Her hand rests against it and the animals move, battling endlessly without either ever getting the upper hand. She notices where her hand lies and jerks it away, the animals settling from the loss of contact.

I ghost a hand over one of my tattoos, a raven haired huntress, and feel the familiar tingle as my tattoo disguises me. Red hair becomes black and my features shirt, morph just enough to not resemble my sister, or the real me. "Of course, I'm starved." I grin and spin on my heel, anticipation rising.


	2. Chapter 2

It's after midnight by the time we exit the taxi and approach the club. The music is unapologetically loud and can be heard from our position on the street. We pass the unending line, ignoring the complaints, and head straight for the bouncer. He doesn't even glance at our faces or ask for ID but rather stares at our chests and waves us through predictably. Inside is a cesspool of writhing bodies a scrap of cloth away from being considering an orgy. It's magnificent.

"I'm gonna take a shot, meet in the center?" My sister shouts not bothering to wait for a reply before disappearing towards the bar. I stand by the door for a second more then head straight for the center of the crowd. The music is some unidentifiable mix of rap and techno that shouldn't be classified as anything other than noise but no one is really listening. I slowly start to join in the frenzied mass and it isn't long before arms wrap around my torso, pulling me snug against a masculine body. Regardless of the fast paced music, our bodies slow and grind against each other. One hand snakes up to cup a breast while the other firmly pushes my hips against his. I twist in his grasp, melding our lips together without even getting a look at him. I'm too hungry to care.

It feels like electricity is flowing through my body although a way too small amount for me to be fulfilled. My body gradually begins to feel more energized as lust shoots through me but my food source sags, the connection stopping as I pull away. His brown eyes are glassy and unfocused causing me to fear for a second I took too much but he shakes his head and pulls himself together, stumbling away. My body hums slightly, the hunger pains almost nonexistent but I still thirst for me. More emotion, more lust, more whatever I take from the unaware.

I discovered very early on that I couldn't eat human food and instead eat humans as food. Not in the traditional cannibalism sense, rather I feed off strong emotions of lust and pain. I prefer the taste of lust, rejecting the unique flavor of pain. Over the years I've tried to find other options but human food makes me puke and any other emotion doesn't put a dent in my hunger and usually makes it worse.

My eyes meet another's, a very alluring blonde who's green eyes flash with interest. I smile enticingly as she weaves her way to and we begin dancing together. Our bodies bump and clash, arms settling on hips and shoulders. My sister approaches from behind the girl and joins our dance, her arms tangling with ours. She touches the girl's bare stomach and shoulder, my sister's blue eyes fluttering close as power flows from her to the girl to me. The girl gasps and I swallow it as I seal our lips together. The unnamed girl tastes better from my sister's emotional boost, lust lighting every cell of my body on fire. I take my fill before disengaging, the girl whimper at the loss. I smirk and meet my sister's eyes which reflect the glow coming from my own. My sister herds the girl away and I enjoy the power coursing through my body, the addicting high that alway follows a successful feeding.

While my sister can't feed off humans like I can, her power to manipulate and control emotions helps my feeds taste all that much better as well as reduces damage to the person I'm feeding off. They get a pretty good high in the moment but when it fades, it leaves them emotionally and physically drained. Nothing rest can't fix, thankfully.

My sister returns just as another potential food source catches my attention. He's by the bar, leaning casually while scanning the crowd. He's dressed normally, jeans and a dark purple t-shirt that seems a little too snug over the broad expansion of his chest. Every so often he runs a hand through his light brown hair, the short strands sticking up in the front. Handsome in the traditional sense, his face seems almost familiar.

Something tickles the back of my brain, a life of being on the wrong side of the law telling me something's off. His stance is a tiny bit too rigid, shoulders too tense and eyes a little too alert to just be casual. He's goverment, or at least trained in some capacity. Warning bells start ringing louder but I mask it and never miss a beat dancing. I brush bare skin against my sisters and she glances questionably, no doubt picking up on the spikes in my emotions. I spin until we're situated back to back dancing provocatively acting completely oblivious to the possible danger at the bar. Our fingers knit together and I get flashes of emotions as she pushes them towards me. _Anxiety, fear, anger_ before a calm descends silently communicating her preparation for a fight. I barely shake my head against hers, telling her that waiting it out is the smartest move. A twitch of the finger is the only sign she understands.

The man so far hasn't glanced in our direction though I couldn't directly tell because I'm facing the opposite way but my sister would've told me in a way only we could interpret. My eyes scan the crowd and the balcony overlooking the dance floor, mostly filled with groups of people drinking, laughing flirting. Nothing suspicious but that in itself raises alarms. Usually in the balcony area there is some crime happening, drugs being bought or used. Even people getting frisky in plain sight or the occasional armed street thug however tonight all that is absent. I flex my hand to pass on the news.

Between wriggling bodies, I spot another person of interest. A dark haired woman around our age prowls the balcony and while she faces forward, her eyes dart over the crowd below her, searching. Her clothes set her apart, a loose black dress ending mid thigh, a red leather jacket pushed up to the elbows and black combat boots. She's covering skin all the other women are baring, my sister and I most definitely included. Several silver chains bounce against her chest and her fingers dance by her side, the occasional red wisp surrounding them. She pauses abruptly, turning to face the dance floor, and focusing her attention in the center. Where we currently dance, hopefully seemingly unaware. Peering from beneath my lashes, I notice her eyes flash red and it clicks. The Avengers, Hawkeye and the Scarlet Witch.

I tap morse code against my sister's hand, covertly warning her of the current situation. Her feelings shoot through me, _fear, worry, anger, worry._ My tattoos itch slightly, the chance of harm to their creator sending them into protective mood. I calm myself the way I was taught, pushing all my emotions into a box and locking it. My tattoos still and my head clears. A plan starts to form, albeit more like twelve percent of a plan. I quickly tap it out to her. She resists, pressing her shoulders against mine to convey her displeasure but eventually relents. After all, I just couldn't seem to make myself leave without my knives.

It happens quickly, I snap my wrist and fling a knife at the woman but she twists and it instead imbeds itself in the wall behind her. _The Scarlet Witch aka Wanda Maximoff_ _twin sister to Quicksilver aka Pietro Maximoff, status deceased._ The information flits through my brain as I dart between club goers. Heading for the back exit, I let my hand brush against the back of my right thigh, over my tattoo of a woman. My body shimmers as my tattoo comes to life, slipping over me easily and disgusting me perfectly. Raven hair becomes a vibrant cobalt blue and blue eyes turn black while my tattoos dim rapidly before disappearing under the guise. It doesn't affect my clothes but they aren't flashy enough to attract attention. Concern for my sister makes my stomach flip but I smother it before it can distract me. My eyes roam over the scene, neither spotting any danger. An arm snakes around my middle and I tense, already prepared to attack when the person attached to the offending arm stumbles and the smell of booze assaults my nose.

"Hey, pretty girlie." The drunken slur is close to my ear and I glance behind, raising an eyebrow in question. I smile at the attractive face and slide into a much more welcoming persona. "Wanna have some fun?" He draws me closer, one hand wandering to squeeze a breast and the other my ass. I don't usually go for drunks but he presses a sloppy kiss to my collarbone and I'm sold. My hands seek skin, his stomach and neck, before capturing his lips with mine. Lust crashes against me and I revel feelings of weightlessness and power that descends upon me. I retract my hands and pry my lips from his, turning on my heel and gliding away. Electricity flows through my veins and while he was a lesser feed, three separate feedings with my sister boosting one of them drowns any residual danger that the two Avengers may have caused.

I'm almost disappointed I don't run into any resistance by the time I step out into the brisk late summer air. The sun is still nowhere to be seen but the sparse lamppost combined with better than average eyesight makes it easy to navigate trash filled alleyway the club lets out into. I make it to the main street when a hand clamps onto my bicep. I react instinctively and grab the hand, twisting it sharply before kicking out. A pained cry fills the air before red wisps throw me back. I twist to avoid landing hard and leap to my feet. I recover faster than the Scarlet Witch who pushes herself up to kneel. The red wisps gather around her hands, eyes glowing red, and they burst forward for a mental attack. I throw up a mental shield, sending the red energy back at her. She groans as the rebound causes her to fall back. I approach slowly and she raises herself onto her hands and knees. The Scarlet Witch's, _Wanda's,_ head tips back to meet my eyes, dark hair spilling around her shoulders.

"I mean no harm. Please, I just want talk, like you said." Her voice is heavily accented, sexy in different circumstances, _okay sexy regardless of the circumstances_ , but her words puzzle me. _Like I said?_ I frown and anger shoots through me so I kick her in the side hard enough to send her sprawling. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that my recent feeds are making me more emotion driven rather than logical but all I can feel is her pain and my anger.

"I never invited you for a chat, sweetheart." I snap and fight the urge to let some of my more dangerous tattoos loose. That would end this too quick and her statement raised questions. She gathers herself and this time makes it to her feet. The red wisps pulse around her hands, almost angrily.

"It has to be you. You told me, tonight at this club. Long red hair and blue eyes." There is a hint of desperation in her voice but her words only serve to confuse and anger me. She shouldn't be able to see my red hair. I came into the club with black and currently sport blue hair but she shows no signs of lying so either she's a really good liar or she can see through my guise. Considering her mental powers, it's most likely the latter.

"And how did I tell you about this rendezvous?" I ask with barely controlled anger, my toes curling within my boots. Her eyes widen, no doubt at my tattoos movement. They grow increasingly more insistent and I'm genuinely tempted to let at least one out to scare her but restrain myself.

"Online, we talk frequently about our mental abilities. Said you wanted to meet." She stammers out, distracted by unusual sight. I curse in Russian and lash out, my foot connecting with her knee. It gives out and she whimpers, hitting the ground hard. I rush her, grabbing onto the front of her dress.

"Wrong sister." I growl and kiss her fiercely, devouring her pain. Pain from the wounds I inflicted and pain over the loss of her twin brother. I usually stick to lust because consuming pain is dangerous, the flavor unmatched in its intensity. My body sings happily while a small piece of me screams at the act of feeding off someone else's pain.

Unfortunately in my eagerness to taste something I haven't had in many years, I left myself open to a mental attack. I withdraw, falling back on my ass as she warps my mind and my greatest fear plays out.

 _The sun beams down in typical Brazilian weather but I don't mind at all. Excitement overwhelms me as I approach the familiar house at a fast pace. I feel my sister behind me but don't bother to look. I step inside, shouting out my presence. Steps rush to greet me, an older Brazilian woman emerging from the kitchen._

 _"Marcia!" I am immediately swept up into a crushing hug as she whispers welcome in her comforting native tongue. She has flour on her face and a towel over one shoulder, nothing new. She beckons through the kitchen to the backyard where barbecue has been set up. The long picnic table is filled with people who all turn to stare at me and my sister. There is a moment of silence before everyone bursts into motion. Two identical women, looking around eighteen, reach me first. I hold back sobs as my daughters wrap their arms around me._

 _"Mom, I missed you so much!" They cry in unison before pulling back and wiping their faces. In the rare occasion anyone outside our family sees us, we pass ourselves off as sister given our similar ages and faces being almost exact copies of one another. I study them intently, memorizing them for future reference. They haven't changed much, but neither have I since I was nine years old. We all have oval faces, pale skin, high cheekbones and plump lips though my girls sport lighter hair. Nadya, older by minutes, has ginger hair pulled into a messy bun while Ksenia has strawberry blonde that frames her face. Like my own twin and I, the difference in hair color is the only noticeable difference between them._

" _Step aside, hogs." The eldest of the triplets complains but sports a telltale smirk as he shoves his way to me. His blue eyes twinkle as he leans down to kiss my cheek. Alexei looks the least like me, which is somewhat comforting since seeing my face on so many other people tends to make you feel less than unique. With dirty blonde hair, a subtle square jaw and grecian nose, Alexei most likely resembles the sperm donor, if I knew what that looked like._

 _I am pulled from my musings by Ksenia's twins, Katja and Kristos , who look to be about sixteen but I know to be only eight, come to greet me fondly. Katja looks exactly like the rest of the us girls but with hair even darker red than my own. Kristos , on the other hand, follows his uncle's lead with shockingly blonde hair and a rounded jawline. He's already taller than his older sister but I still remain inches taller, thank god._

 _"Amma, why haven't you visited sooner?" Kristos asks and receives an elbow to the ribs from Katja. They glare at each other while I swallow down guilt._

 _"Why don't you go find your Oma?" Ksenia quickly says, referring to my sister, as she gently shoos them away. Nadya steals a hug while Alexei grips my shoulder in comfort._

 _"We all know why you stay away, Mom, and thank you for it." Nadya says before darting towards the swarm of people near the picnic table._

 _"They are all well?" I don't take my eyes off the rest of my family, watching as my sister greets her own triplets, Milos , Misha and Mila , along with Mila's twin girls named Runa and Irina. Milos and Misha are both tall and muscled like Alexei, but only Misha shares Alexei's dirty blonde hair while Milos just barely classifies as a redhead. My eyes stray towards Nadya as she proudly leads her not so little boy to me. Just as strong as uncles and cousins, Dima is tall and thin but by no means weak. His wavy dark hair and even darker eyes stick among the rest of us but his features are so similar to our own, there is no doubting he is one of us._

 _The flickers for a second, my happiness and absolute joy freezing as everything melts away and is replaced by horror._

 _The first thing I notice is heat. Not the typical temperature heat but fire, scorching hot heat that causes nothing but pain and destruction. The next is the blood on my hands. I glance around and take in the scene. My heart crumbles as my eyes seem glued to the bloody, unmoving bodies of my children and grandchildren. I scramble to the closest one, the blood matted hair making it difficult to tell if it's Nadya or Ksenia but I just know, inside, I'm holding Nadya. Ksenia and Alexei lay just as still nearby as my screams and sobs fill the air. I can't breathe anymore, can't seem to process anything but the crushing loss. Something catches my attention and I notice my sister, with her children and grandchildren lined up behind her, staring at me. They seem frozen, not in any time of shock or pain, but rather indifferent to everything._

" _Help me! Please, do something!" My voice cracks, whether from emotion or the screaming, I can't tell. "Please, sister, heal them." Something flashes across her face and she suddenly approaches, her children still frozen as they were._

 _"I can't heal the dead." She states, standing just out of reach of blood pool that's being slowly soaked into the earth._

 _"Then help me bring them back!" I snap angrily at her lack of response. Her jaw clenches before the emotion disappears and leaves, yet again, indifference. I try to wipe my face but end up smearing blood instead and it only causes me to sob harder. She steps into the blood, crouching beside me and closing Ksenia's unseeing eyes._

 _"You know as well as I that's not possible." She tsks as if she's correctly a disobedient child. Like one of her own children, while mine lay dead. Anger, sorrow, grief threatens to choke me._

 _"Not impossible. We've done it before." I lightly push my daughter's body away to face my sister. Or whoever I stare at because my sister wouldn't be acting so casual. My sister would be mourning with me, calming the waves of emotions that kill me from the inside._

 _"But they're always ended up different, wrong. You want that for them, your children and grandchildren?" She questions, cocking her head to one side. We stand almost in sync before I snap, pushing her hard. She stumbles but doesn't fall. I strike, my fist connecting with her face. She stumbles but doesn't fall. I hit her again and again but she doesn't fall._

 _"I want them alive!" I finally scream at her, silently begging her to help me. "I want them back! I can't handle losing them, I won't survive this. Please, they are your family as well,_ I am your family _. Help me." I drop to my knees before her, clasping our hands together._

 _"Then you won't survive." She roughly pulls our hands apart and disappears._


End file.
